


How way leads on to way.

by churchofyourcurves



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churchofyourcurves/pseuds/churchofyourcurves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU</p><p>Clarke gets a flat tire, and Lexa changes it for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How way leads on to way.

Clarke loves driving.

When things get too much, and all she wants to do is escape, she loves to take her car out onto the open road and drive down highways, letting her mind fall mercifully blank. It’s her sanctuary in a world where everyone keeps putting their expectations on her shoulders.

At least, it is when her tire doesn’t blow out and she ends up stranded on the side of the road.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and - yep, of course - she has no reception.

Shoving the many, many horror movies that she’s watched out of her head, she goes to the trunk of her car and opens it up. Under the carpeting there’s a spare tire, and something she assumes is the car jack. She grabs both of them out, letting the carpet fall back down unevenly so that one corner is sticking up and the other is folded down into the cavity she just pulled the tire out of.

She drags the spare over to the flat tire, lays it down on the ground, and puts the jack down next to it. Then, she stares at it all.

Fuck.

What she’d give to have Raven here right now.

Four hours later, the sun is starting to descend towards the horizon and she’s no closer to figuring it out. She has her denim overshirt wrapped around her forehead - she _may_ have gone a little insane -, has pulled the carpet from the boot on to the roof of the car, and is sitting cross legged on top of it, with her eyes closed and hands resting on her knees.

(Because she’s tried everything else and reaching someone through the spiritual plane is the only thing left she can think of.)

The sound of a car in the distance snaps her eyes open, and for a second she thinks it worked, but that thought passes as she realises that the car is fast approaching and she has to work to get their attention.

She drops off the car roof, waving her arms maniacally above her head, and the car continues to come towards her.

It comes.

And it comes.

And it goes.

“Fuck you, you fuck!” she yells at it, sticking both middle fingers in the air at it, and it makes her feel a little better.

The car’s brakes squeal as it stops and Clarke drops her hands immediately.

It pulls over to the side of the road, several hundred feet down from her, and then the reverse taillights come on and it starts to back up towards her.

“Oh shit,” she mutters, scrambling to the other side of the car and grabbing the car jack. It’s a miserable attempt at a weapon, but it’s the best she can do right now.

The car stops a few feet away from her and she tightens her grip on the car jack.

The door opens and out climbs...

Well.

Clarke drops the jack, and it clips the side of her boot, making her swear loudly.

“Hello to you too.”

Clarke looks up from her still-throbbing foot to a girl with the very definition of legs for days, wild hair that cascades down her back in waves, and pale green eyes brimming with amusement. Clarke realises her shirt is still tied around her forehead, and she pulls it off with a swipe. “Hi.”

The girl nods to the spare tire and stupid car jack. “Car troubles?”

“Flat tire.”

“I can help with that,” she offers, and Clarke is fairly sure that she’s got sunstroke because her first thought is not PG-rated.

“That would be-” Clarke clears her throat. “Thanks. That would be great.”

The girl nods again, and there’s something in her expression that makes it seem like this is no big deal, as if she always goes around changing tires for people possibly suffering sunstroke on the side of deserted highways.

“I’m Clarke, by the way,” Clarke introduces herself as the girl retrieves the car jack from next to her feet, and the spare tire from under the tower Clarke built out of all the things she found in her car.

She hands Clarke the rest of the tower and replies, “Lexa.”

“Lexa,” Clarke repeats, feeling how the name sounds in her mouth, and Lexa’s head tilts slightly before she goes back down to the flat tire.

“Where’s the other part of the car jack?”

“The other... There’s another part?”

Lexa looks up at her from her crouched position, and Clarke feels a flash of defensiveness, because seriously? How is she meant to know?

Apparently Lexa catches it, because she silently goes to the trunk of Clarke’s car and examines the contents, before pulling out a rod and a metal cross with even arms, and returning to the flat tire. She attaches it to the stupid car jack, places the jack under the car, and starts to crank it up.

The car lifts slowly, and Clarke realises that she should probably make small talk, but she can’t quite think of anything, because Lexa is wearing a singlet with the armholes cut down low so every time she pulls the crank back up it shows her black bra _and_ her toned biceps at the same time, which is stupidly unfair.

“You’re Skaikru?” Lexa asks.

Clarke looks back at her blankly and Lexa gestures towards the college sweatshirt that Clarke is holding.

“Oh. Yeah.” She frowns. “Wait, you’re a Grounder?”

The rivalry between University of Arkadia and Ground University is epic, from academics to sports, and there’s that time they stole each other’s mascot costumes. (Clarke may have had a hand in that. It had involved Monty, Jasper, Octavia, Monty’s new bong and an Uber that Clarke had been _told_ was taking them to a pizza place but took them to the GroundU campus instead.)

No one’s really sure what started the rivalry, although the fact that they’re only a few towns over from each other and among the top colleges in the country definitely contributes, and up until now Clarke has gone along with it. After all, they have _their_ _own made-up language_ , how pretentious can you get?

“I am.”

Lexa’s work on the tire pauses, and Clarke prays she doesn’t stop and hates that she’s relying on a Grounder.

“What are you doing here?”

“What, like the Grounders own this county?” Clarke retorts.

“No,” Lexa replies coolly, “I was just wondering. Your college is quite far from here.”

Lexa has a point, but Clarke refuses to acknowledge it.

“Well, what are you doing here?”

“I like to drive down this road. It’s quiet.”

Clarke doesn’t mention that that’s the same reason she likes this road.

Lexa removes the hubcap from the tire and uses one end of the metal cross to start loosening the wheel’s nuts, or bolts, or whatever they’re called.

“Do you-” Clarke sighs and half-shrugs with her arms still full of random paraphernalia. “Do you want any help?”

Lexa smiles at her from the corner of her mouth and replies, “I am quite capable, Clarke,” and there’s something about the way she says her name that sends a sensation down Clarke’s spine, and she can’t tell if she hates it or not.

Then, Lexa starts to crank the car up again and Clarke turns away from her, making a quiet huff in the back of her throat. She goes to the trunk and dumps all of her stuff in there, and is about to slam it shut, but realises that it probably isn’t the best idea given that the front right-side of the car is no longer touching the ground.

Clarke checks her useless phone again, huffs louder, and walks back over to Lexa. “So, what’s your major?” she asks, more brusquely than is polite, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“Political science,” the brunette replies, and Clarke finds herself irritated that the girl doesn’t call it ‘PoliSci’ like literally everyone she knows. She loosens the wheel bolt-things all the way and slides the tire off, placing it on the ground next to the spare. “And you, Clarke of the Sky People?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. Their college mascot is an eagle, and somewhere along the way of their college’s 130-odd years of shared history, the Grounders decided to call them Sky People. It makes no sense, but has been around for so long that no one really questions it.

“I’m pre-med.”

Lexa’s eyebrows rise respectfully as she lifts the spare onto the car. “Is that stressful?”

“It’s-” Clarke thinks about the pile of notes on her table in the dorm room and lies, “It’s fine.”

Lexa finishes securing the new tire to the car in silence and lowers the car back down to the ground. She checks the tire, removes the stupid car jack, and picks up the jack and cross wrench in one hand, and the flat tire in the other.

“Where should I put these?” she asks and, even though it sounds polite, there’s something about it that seems like she’s done Clarke a huge favour. Which, okay, she has, but still.

Clarke guides her back to the trunk, even though Lexa totally already knows that’s where to put them. When they get there Clarke sees why she asked, as her stuff is still strewn across the metal base of the trunk, including a lacy black bra that has made it to the top of the pile. Red faced, Clarke snatches it all out so Lexa can put the tire and tools back in place. Lexa even pulls the carpet off the car roof and lays it down, smoothing it out with two hands so that it sits perfectly.

Clarke dumps the pile back into the boot and slams it shut, grateful to get it out of her hands.

Lexa steps back and looks at Clarke expectantly.

“Thanks,” Clarke says, semi-dismissively.

“Of course, Clarke.”

Lexa starts to walk back to her car and is halfway there before Clarke bites the inside of her cheek and calls out, “Hey, uh, Lexa.”

Lexa turns back to her and raises an eyebrow. “Clarke.”

“I haven’t eaten anything in, like, six hours.”

Lexa blinks, waiting for Clarke to finish.

“Do you want to maybe grab dinner?” Clarke asks when it becomes clear that Lexa isn’t going to let her get away with not verbalising her offer. “On me.” Then, thinking Lexa might take this as her asking her out, she adds, “For the tire.”

Lexa nods as if it’s obvious that it’s payment for the tire. “That would be lovely, Clarke.”

Clarke is about to ask if it’s necessary to end each statement with her name, when Lexa starts walking back to her car and says, “I know a place, follow me.”

Clarke swallows the comment that she doesn’t want to go to a Grounder place; partly because Lexa is already in her car, and partly because she’s fairly sure Lexa wouldn’t take her to a Grounder place.

Apparently, Lexa is not on the same wavelength, because she takes Clarke to a Grounder place. Not just any Grounder place, but a Grounder _bar_.

Clarke pulls up the handbrake on her car and stares up at the college bar. It doesn’t look busy, but Clarke still can’t bring herself to get out of her car.

Lexa raps on her window making Clarke jump, and she winds the window down and glares at her.

“Are you coming or do you wish to continue staring at the exterior?”

“This is a Grounder bar,” Clarke states drily.

“It is,” Lexa agrees, “and the food is excellent.”

Clarke looks back up at the sign; in the quickly darkening night it has been lit up, making the tree trunk drawings and name - POLIS - glow.

“If you do not wish to come in, you do not need to, Clarke. I can pay for my own dinner and you may return to your Arkadia.”

( _Your_ Arkadia - as if Clarke owns the college, which gets under Clarke’s skin for some reason, but she doesn’t know why.)

Lexa is already on the sidewalk when Clarke climbs out of her car and follows. She doesn’t want to drive all the way back yet; she’s not sure she trusts her car without the Grounder around to help.

As soon as Clarke walks into the bar she feels out of place. There aren’t many people around, but she can’t help but feel as if they somehow _know_ she’s an outsider.

Lexa walks up to the bar, which runs along the side wall and is bordered by hundreds of photos taken of the bar’s patrons in varying states of intoxication. Clarke sees one that might be Lexa with another girl in the top left corner but her attention is pulled away from it by Lexa handing her a laminated menu.

“I recommend the burger,” Lexa offers, before waiting for Clarke’s choice.

Clarke skims the menu and leans forward to the huge bartender with a beard that goes halfway down his chest and has two plaits running through it. “I’ll have wings.” She turns to Lexa. “What do you want?”

Without blinking, Lexa orders a burger.

“Any drinks?” the bartender asks and Clarke hesitates.

“It is your choice, Clarke,” Lexa says, and Clarke mutters ‘duh’ under her breath, and if Lexa hears her she doesn’t comment.

“Fuck it, I need a drink,” Clarke says to herself, and ignores Lexa’s small smile as she orders a shot of tequila and a beer. The first of many.

A number of drinks that Clarke has lost count of later, they’re playing a game of pool, which Clarke is usually amazing at but she can’t seem to get anything to line up properly, so she’s losing horribly. Lexa is irritatingly good, even though she takes every chance to lean on her pool cue and is actually a drink ahead of Clarke.

“Clarke,” she says, ending her name with a ‘kuh’ sound. “Clarke, I am one ball from victory.”

Clarke sets up her shot; she still has to sink three more balls before she can try for the 8 ball. “Shut up, Lexa.”

“But, Clarke-”

Clarke takes the shot and misses; instead, the white ball glances off the one she was aiming for and sends it careening in the opposite direction. She pulls a face and straightens back up, just in time to see Octavia walking over to her with a curious expression.

“Oh, shit,” is all Clarke has time to say before Octavia is standing across the pool table from her.

“Clarke?”

“Hey, O!” Clarke grips the cue with both hands and hopes her smile isn’t too big, like it usually is when she drinks.

“You’re at a Grounder bar,” Octavia says, and it’s clear that she’s nowhere near Clarke’s level of intoxication.

“So are you.”

Clarke sees the guy hovering behind Octavia, and her eyebrows shoot up. When she looks back to Octavia, Octavia is sending the same expression at Lexa.

Wanting to explain that this isn't what it looks like, Clarke steps into Octavia’s field of vision and says, “O, this is-”

“Lexa.”

Clarke looks from Octavia to Lexa. _How many times has Octavia been to this bar before?_

“You two know each other.”

“We’ve met.”

Instead of Octavia’s usual hostility towards people she doesn’t know well, there’s a weird look that almost looks like... respect?

“How are you, Octavia?” Lexa asks, leaning forward against the pool table but misjudging slightly so that she ends up having to catch herself on it with the hand holding the pool cue.

“Not as good as you two are.”

“You should get more drinks,” Clarke suggests, because she’s starting to feel more like she’s been caught doing something she’s not meant to. “We should get drinks. Let me get you drinks.” Without waiting for a reply, Clarke hands Lexa her pool cue and rounds the pool table to throw an arm around Octavia’s shoulders and lead her towards the bar.

“Clarke, what are you doing with Lexa?” Octavia hisses as soon as they’re out of earshot of the pool table.

“She fixed my car.”

Octavia blinks. “She fixed your car.”

“I had a flat tire, and she changed it for me.”

“Wait-” Octavia holds her hand up, palm facing Clarke. “You don’t know how to change a flat?”

“So not important right now!” Clarke exclaims. “How do you know her? What are you doing here? What do you want to drink?”

“Clarke,” Octavia says, and it sounds nothing like when Lexa says it. “Lexa is like a God around here. She’s the student council president, _and_ the captain of the lacrosse team. Plus she runs like a million clubs.” Octavia pauses to let it sink in and then quickly finishes, “And I’m dating a Grounder, please don’t tell Bellamy.” Then, as if she hasn’t just dropped the Blake family’s version of an A-bomb, she says to the bartender, “Rum and coke, please.”

Clarke doesn’t say anything as the drink is being made, and Octavia watches her out of the corner of her eye.

“Clarke?”

“I’m processing.”

“Which part?” Octavia asks carefully.

“The rum and coke part,” Clarke replies sarcastically, “which part do you think?”

“Okay, okay.”

The bartender hands over the rum and coke, as well as another beer for Clarke, and she pays for them silently.

“Okay,” Clarke says as she gets back her card, “here’s what we do.”

Octavia leans in.

“We pretend we never saw each other.”

Octavia leans back.

“Seriously,” Clarke insists. “We were never here. Problem solved.”

“Never here,” Octavia echoes.

“Never here.”

“Simple, I like it.”

Clarke grins and gives herself a victory sip of her beer. They hug a goodbye and go to separate ends of the bar; Octavia back to her Grounder and Clarke back to Lexa.

“Where’s Octavia?” Lexa asks as she hands Clarke back her pool cue.

“She went back to her date.”

Lexa nods as if she already knows who Octavia is dating - which makes sense, but still annoys Clark, especially when Lexa says his name. “Lincoln is a good person, Octavia is lucky to have him.”

For some reason, Clarke’s teeth are on edge as she demands, “Are you going to take your shot?”

Lexa seems surprised by Clarke’s impatience, but not by much. With a flourish, she aims her pool cue and takes her shot. The 8 ball glides to the far pocket and sinks in smoothly.

Lexa rises back to standing up straight with a smug look on her face. “I believe you owe me a drink, Clarke kom Skaikru.”

Clarke scowls.

Many drinks later, they are the only ones left in the bar. The bartender has put the rest of the chairs on top of the tables and is wiping down the bar, yet shows no sign of asking them to leave.

Their conversation has gotten quieter, the sombreness of the end of the night seeping through as they drink their water. They switched to water half an hour ago so the bartender could close up the till, but Clarke has a feeling that if Lexa asked, the bartender would keep serving them.

“Is it hard?” Clarke asks. Lexa gives her an unfocused, vaguely puzzled look, so Clarke clarifies, “Being the big shot around campus.”

Lexa stays silent for so long that Clarke is about to tell her she doesn’t have to answer when she replies, “People expect a lot from me,” and it’s not an answer, but it is at the same time.

“I know how that feels,” Clarke mutters, knocking back a gulp of her water as if it’s a shot.

“Do people look to you, Clarke?”

Instead of answering that, Clarke decides to take the easier road and ask, “Why do you talk like that?”

Lexa frowns. “Like what?”

“Like you’re being marked on your elocution.”

Lexa considers her, and there’s amusement in her eyes even if her facial features don’t shift. “English isn’t my first language.”

“Oh.” Clarke reddens. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s my third,” Lexa continues, as if Clarke isn’t scrambling to apologise, “or fourth, I always forget the order.” Lexa gives a self-conscious smile, and it’s the youngest that Clarke’s seen her.

“That’s a lot of languages.”

Lexa nods thoughtfully.

“I guess that’s the accent too.”

“I wasn’t aware I had an accent,” Lexa deadpans, and it takes Clarke a full second before realising that Lexa is joking.

Lexa explains before Clarke has to ask, “My parents wanted me to be a citizen of the world. After all, you can’t lead if you don’t have a full understanding of things around you.”

“Your parents want you to lead the world?” Clarke asks, and she means it, until her brain finally catches up to her mouth.

Lexa laughs softly, and Clarke is grateful for it.

“Perhaps not the world.” Then, with a small smirk, “Yet, anyway.”

Clarke is struck with a sudden desire to share part of herself with Lexa, given how much the Grounder has given her.

“I get that,” she says, “the parent thing.”

“Do I have competition for leader of the world?” Lexa asks, and Clarke gives her a look.

“Oh no, you can have that one.” Clarke finishes the last of her water and leans back in the booth, gesturing at herself. “Future neurosurgeon.”

“It’s quite early to decide your specialty.”

“Believe me,” Clarke says darkly, “it wasn’t my decision.”

Lexa gives her that look - the one where it feels like she’s looking straight through Clarke’s words to the meaning of them, - and she nods. “Ah.”

“I mean, being a doctor, saving lives...” Clarke sighs. “It’s _good_ , you know? It’s a good thing to do. But I just don’t know...”

“If it’s the good thing that you want to do.”

Clarke’s eyes snap to Lexa’s, and there’s something so powerful in them that Clarke loses her breath.

“Yeah.”

Lexa nods, and the understanding is silent but so shared that Clarke wants to cry. She doesn’t; instead, she swallows hard and swirls her glass even though there’s no more liquid in it.

“So,” she says, once she can trust her voice again, “what do Grounders do for fun around here?”

\---

Lexa opens the door to the res building’s rooftop, and the night wind cuts through Clarke’s buzz and sharpens the world around her. She crosses her arms against it, even though she doesn’t feel cold, and Lexa silently hands her the second jacket that she got from her car, despite Clarke’s insistence that she didn’t need it.

Clarke glares at the jacket - it’s a GroundU zippered hoodie - before giving in and putting it on. The cotton is soft against her skin, and it smells like Lexa’s perfume, which makes Clarke's stomach flip. She pulls the hood over her head so that she can hide her ears, which she’s pretty sure are glowing red right now, and it sits awkwardly over her hair.

She climbs the stairs up to the roof. It’s covered in a layer of gravel that feels surprisingly deep as her feet sink into it, and she walks forward slowly, enjoying the noise her shoes make through the gravel as she digs her toes in deeper with each step.

There are three upside-down milk crates arranged into a half circle a metre away from the edge of the rooftop. At their centre there’s an ashtray that looks like it hasn’t been emptied since it was bought, with layers upon layers of cigarette butts that are sticking out at every possible angle in a fight to not be the person who has to empty it.

As Clarke walks towards the crates, she notices that there are bottle caps mixed in with the gravel. One connects with the toe of her boot and shoots forward to ricochet off the lip of the building edge.

When she reaches the crates she doesn’t sit, choosing to remain standing and prop her left foot on the top edge of one, rocking it back and forth as she takes in the sight of the campus.

GroundU is well known for being the most enviro-friendly campus in the country. There’s scarcely a spot that isn’t shaded by trees, and the path’s solar-powered lighting wink through the gaps between the leaves - a reflection of the stars above.

Even the buildings are green; on the other side of the roof there is a garden packed with thriving plants, and the campus buildings are covered in wall planters of untrimmed flourishing greenery, making them look like they’ve been reclaimed by nature.

The wind whips over the edge and rips Clarke’s hood off, sending her hair towards the stars in a messy twirl and mixing the night sky through it.

She pulls her hair back down, twisting it to try and keep it together, but not bothering with the hood again. She looks back at Lexa, who is propping a brick in the doorway so the door won’t close on them, and when that's done she joins Clarke.

“It’s pretty,” Clarke admits, because it is. “Do you come up here a lot?”

Lexa sits down on one of the milk crates and digs her heels into the gravel so that her toes are pointing up towards the sky. “I do.”

Clarke sits down next to her, and she suddenly feels a lot colder, so she pulls the jacket’s sleeves down around her hands and grips the cuffs tightly.

“I joined the Eco-Care Committee as a freshman,” Lexa explains without being prompted, “I was assigned to this garden.”

“Are you still in it?” Clarke skates her heel across the gravel, sending stones and a few bottle caps skittering.

“I am the president.”

“Of course.”

Lexa tilts her head. Being outside has sobered her up too; her eyes have regained their careful focus. “Does the number of my extra curriculars discount the worth of them?”

“No, just- How do you do all of it?”

Lexa smiles evenly. “You assume that taking care of a garden weighs on me, Clarke.” She casts a look at the garden behind them. “I would not bring you here if I counted it among my stressors.”

“Point taken.” Clarke watches Lexa’s profile. “Why did you bring me up here?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It seems... special.”

Lexa doesn’t say anything for a while, and Clarke wonders if she’s said something wrong, then Lexa turns to Clarke and looks her dead in the eye. “It felt like you needed it.”

Lexa’s words sit in Clarke’s throat for several moments, until she continues, “Also, I know your people are dismissive of our environmental stance, so I wanted to share the beauty of it with you.”

Clarke snorts. “So you’re trying to convert me.”

“Perhaps. Is it working?”

Clarke shuffles deeper into the hoodie so that the collar is around her ears. “No.”

Lexa gives Clarke a knowing smile, and they relax into silence as Lexa looks to the stars above and Clarke looks to the ground below.


End file.
